Weird Christmas
by Madness Hamster
Summary: What happened between The Doctors hand getting cut off during The Christmas Invasion and it turning up in Jacks possession in Torchwood?


**Weird Christmas**

People don't believe me when I tell them. Hell, _I_ wouldn't believe me. But you would think that after recent events it wouldn't be so hard to swallow.

I guess I should start at the beginning. How it was just a normal day. Well, as normal as it can get on a Christmas day when there's a massive alien spaceship hovering above London. Believe it or not though, that wasn't the weirdest part of my day.

Let's see, there was the news reports of some really ugly looking martians, the big laser death ray thing that blew up said massive alien ship and, oh yeah, the hand that almost killed me when it fell from the sky.

Yeah, that's right, I said 'hand'. Bet I've got your attention now? Now, a hand landing on the pavement in front of you is weird enough. But the thing was moving! You ever see _The Adams Family_? Remember 'Thing'? That hand that used to crawl round on its fingers; always used to creep me out. So when this hand started wriggling its fingers and looking like it was trying to flip itself over, I freaked.

Well, any normal person would, right?

There was no-one else on the street, it being Christmas day and there being an alien invasion, not many people pop out to the corner shop or whatever, so I'm just standing there quietly freaking out at this hand that has just hit the pavement, which, by the way wasn't even cracked. I mean, has anyone seen that movie _Dogma_? Didn't they say something that falls out of the sky would be liquefied on impact? This thing was just fine, there was barely even a bang as it hit the floor less than 2 inches in front of my brand new purple peep-toe heels.

Anyway, I'm wondering what the hell I should do with this possibly alive, probably mutated hand in the middle of the street, I mean, I could just leave it there, wouldn't be my problem anymore, but a stray dog might try to eat it or something, and this thing would probably kill the poor dog. I couldn't have that on my conscience. I considered calling the police or an ambulance or something, but, y'know, great big spaceship, they're probably slightly busy with the aliens trying to kill us all.

So I poke at it with a stick.

The palm was facing the sky, the fingers wriggling, trying to rock itself, so I broke a bit of branch off the nearest hedge, hoping that whoever's hedge I was vandalising wasn't looking out of their window at that exact moment to see a crazy girl in purple heels pulling bits off their hedge to poke at a dismembered hand. Which didn't actually look all that dismembered, come to think of it. I mean, it looked dismembered in the way that there wasn't the rest of a body attached to it, but there was no blood or bone or any gross thing like that, it was just kinda...smooth.

So, armed with my trusty hedge-stick, I poke at the palm. The fingers just kept right on wriggling, so I start thinking, hey, maybe this is just a joke. Maybe someone got a trick hand for Christmas, like one of those ones used by fake mediums in cheesy séance's and they chucked it out the window when they saw me walking past, to freak me out.

Once I thought of that, I felt so stupid. There was probably some spotty little 13 year old sitting up in his room with his camera phone taking pictures of me making an arse out of myself so he could send them to his mates and they'd all have a right laugh at my expense.

A slightly more comforting thought than that of a hand randomly falling from the sky (I briefly considered the chance of it coming from the big alien spaceship but by the look of their faces in that news report, the chances of them having hands that looked like ours was very slim. And oddly funny).

But then the hand grabbed the stick. And pulled! I screamed, obviously, and thought sod this. So I ran away. You would have too, the hand _grabbed_ the bloody stick!

5 minutes later, 3 streets away, I had to stop running because I had a stitch. Have you ever tried running in 4 inch heels? It's not all that easy, let me tell you.

There I am, doubled over and panting like I've just seen Brad Pitt, but I've outrun the freaky hand, right? Wrong. Just as I get my breath back there's a scuttling noise behind me. Please be a cat, please please, hell, I'd even take a rat as long as it wasn't that bloody hand.

I turned slowly – not to be dramatic or anything, I just really really wanted to not have to see the hand again – but there the flipping thing is. Just sitting there on the pavement. If it had eyes I swear it would have been watching me.

What did I do? What I should have done in the first place, I kicked it and ran away again. I know, I know, not the most mature response, but what would you have done? Taken it home and kept it as a pet? Not likely.

Weirdest thing ever right? I wish! I finally make it home (nevermind that I was trying to get to my mother's house for Christmas dinner before this whole fiasco started, my flat was closer and there were stairs, hands probably couldn't climb stairs, I mean, it was kinda small) and slam the door behind me.

Kettle's on, phone mum to tell her I'll be late, just having a bit of an issue. Not that she minds, keeps going on about that flipping spaceship – yes, we get it, there's aliens gonna kill us, wah wah wah, I've just been chased by a hand that did a freefall with presumably the sole intent of freaking me out until I have a heart attack and die. At least, that's what it feels like.

My hot chocolate is poured, there's a very generous dose of Baileys Irish Cream in it and my hands have stopped shaking when there's a scrabbling noise at the door. I live in the middle of London, there's a very good chance that this time it is a rat, but this is my life, and since when do things go that right for me?

Duh.

Front door's closed. Did I lock it? You bet your sweet ass I did, I just told you I live in the centre of London, if it's not nailed down it'll get nicked, and if it is nailed down they'll nick the nails too. I've got 3 locks on my freaking door.

Somehow I don't think that'll stop a flying alien hand though so I look for the nearest heavy object. I'm standing in my kitchen so you'd think it would be a pan or something right? I'm wearing purple shoes, do you really think I cook?

I'm armed with a half full Absolut bottle. They're pretty sturdy and they hurt when you get hit with one. Just ask my ex. So I shuffle into the hallway, armed with my alcohol, just like the girl in horror movies that you always shout at to run in the opposite direction, the stupid cow.

Something scuttled down the hall, really fast, hugging the sideboard and whipped round the corner into the bathroom. It must have squeezed through the letterbox. I take a brief moment to be impressed, come on, ninja hand! Gotta be flexible to squeeze through a letterbox barely big enough for the postie to put my DVD's from through.

I get over being impressed pretty quickly, and scream like a little bitch when it appears in the doorway, so I crouch and wave the vodka bottle in its general direction, screaming the whole time.

Then someone kicks my frigging door in! Remember the 3 locks? They're really good ones, expensive, burglar proof, and now hanging off the bloody door frame while some pretty boy stands there in a long (kinda flasher-esque) coat, perfectly framed by the sunlight behind his head and says to me in a smug American tone "you screamed?"

_You screamed?_ I'm sorry, I didn't order cheese with my day-from-hell. Well, obviously I let him have it.

"I screamed? Of course I bloody screamed, a hand fell from the freaking sky, nearly killed me, followed me home, hid in my bathroom, and now someone comes along and kicks my front door in? I have a severed hand hanging around my flat and you're thinking up cheesy lines and working out which angle makes your hair look the best? Of course I frigging screamed you idiot! There. Is. A. Hand. In. My. Bathroom."

By the look on his face it wasn't the usual response he got from cowering damsels in distress. I stood up, straightened my dress (black, one shouldered, short enough to be suggest things but long enough to prevent a lecture from my dad, thanks for asking) and held my bottle of vodka like a baseball bat. I was really trying my hardest to look threatening and like someone who could handle themselves.

I usually can, you know. Handle myself, I mean. I can get rid of the sleazy guys at the bar with withering look and a few choice words, I can convince my boss to let me pick my own projects at work, I can run in 4 inch heels for craps sake. Somehow, most of my skill set doesn't translate well to being stalked by a hand without a body.

Mr Cheesecake doesn't say much after that. But he does have a big nifty jar thing with green tinted bubbling liquid in it. Not bubbling like it's boiling, more bubbling like there's something moving around in it. Except there isn't. Well, not until he corners the hand in my bath, ripping my shower curtain off in the process, by the way, and somehow manages the shove the thing into the jar.

Told you my day got weirder. Like it wasn't enough to nearly be hit by a hand falling out of the sky, some guy with too-white teeth, hair that doesn't move and a flasher coat shoved it in a jar of strange green goo.

Now, don't laugh at me for this, but I kinda, maybe, sorta fainted. Right there in the hallway outside the bathroom. Talk about mortified! Especially when I woke up on my bed (thankfully still fully clothed) with a lukewarm cup of tea on the bedside table, my vodka bottle/weapon was nowhere to be found. So I grabbed the lamp off the bedside table and put my feet on the ground. Someone had taken off my shoes, so I had a brief moment of panic until I spotted them at the end of the bed. I really like those shoes.

By the time I made it to the half open bedroom door, I could see the bathroom from where I stood.

The bathroom looked pristine. Shower curtain in place, all shampoo/conditioner/body scrub/shower gel/etc bottles where they should have been instead of spread out leaking all over the floor, like they had been before I'd passed out.

When I got out of the bedroom I could see the front door. Hinges intact, door closed as normal, 3 locks, all locked.

Just as I'm starting to think this has been one weird-ass dream and I need to stop drinking so much on Christmas eve, I stumble to the kitchen and there's a note on my fridge.

Thanks for babysitting for us.

You saved us a lot of trouble by being the first person to find this.

If you ever need a job, come find us in Cardiff.

_Captain Jack Harkness_

Seriously. Captain Cheese left me a frigging note.

Even with the note, my mum didn't believe me. When I finally made it to hers (I took a taxi, the price was extortionate but I wasn't running the risk after what happened the last time I tried to walk there) she asked me if I'd been drinking. And then if I was hungover. And then announced very matter of factly that it was the stress. And did I know that it was all a hoax? The whole alien spaceship thing was one big hoax. Probably hackers, she said, getting me all worked up for nothing, she said, making me hallucinate.

Dude, I didn't hallucinate. Weirdest. Christmas. Ever.


End file.
